


Sugar

by Arsenic



Series: Discipline and Punish [68]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2020-03-29 23:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19030462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/pseuds/Arsenic
Summary: The first ingredient.





	Sugar

"So that wasn't something that interested you?" C asked Mikey, when Frank told him about the Cross-Dressing Incident.

Mikey shook his head. "Not that way. Not with humiliation."

C waited a minute. "Want to elaborate?"

Mikey looked down at his lap. "I was into the way he looked. He-- I could see his legs, but the dress made it seem, um, I don't know, it was _different_ than when he's naked, when it's just allowed to look, which is hot, don't get me wrong, but there was something-- Like I was getting to see something secret, I guess. I like it when we have secrets. And his lips were, I mean, they're always, but the gloss made them-- He was beautiful."

"Has he ever explained it like that, Frank?"

Frank shook his head and did his best not to gape. Mikey had said "beautiful," had murmured, "gorgeous," but all those other things had gone completely unsaid. C asked, "How does that make you feel?"

"Like going and getting the fucking dress on," Frank said, despite the fact that there was nothing happening between his legs.

"I take it that's the first time you've ever heard him break down his response. What did you _think_ his response was until now?"

Frank considered the question, since it wasn't like Mikey hadn't used descriptive adjectives. "I was pretty sure he just thought I was fucked up and needed fixing." Which wasn't exactly untrue nor mutually exclusive, still, Frank had never gone _beyond_ that.

"Is that what you think, Mikey?"

Mikey was slow to respond. "He _does_ need fixing. But not anymore than me, really. Just different."

C nodded. "All right. We'll come back to that, because I think it's a few steps ahead of ourselves. Mind if I change tactics here, for a moment?"

Mikey shook his head and Frank gestured that it was fine with this hands. C said, "The two of you were in prison together for a little over a year, right?"

Frank could tell you the days. He nodded. C asked, "And then you didn't see each other for another four, roughly, while Frank was in prison and you were out, right?" He looked over at Mikey.

Mikey said, "Yeah."

"And for three of those years, you were rooming with Tommy." C turned his attention back to Frank.

Frank tensed. He'd mentioned Tommy, mentioned "protecting" him. He should have known they were going to have to go there. All he said was, "Tommy. Yeah."

"Were you having sex with him? As part of the protection?"

"No," Frank said. " _No._." The thought made him sick to his stomach.

"Okay," C said softly. "But you were going through the charade of it?"

Frank closed his eyes. "I-- In there, in there I did things-- I played people and maneuvered events and fucking killed, but it wasn't like-- The things that come back are the sounds Mikey made in that shower, the feel of the needle going through Tommy's tongue and he screamed, I don't think he would have if he could have helped it, but he did, his tongue almost slipped out of my hand, and I just pushed the needle through, finished up like I wasn't hurting him, like I wasn't taking things from him."

"And you put Tommy in dresses, right?" C asked, his voice still low, careful.

Frank shuddered. "Said-- Told him what they would do to him if he didn't and made him."

"Stop," Mikey said and moved in between Frank and C, making Frank open his eyes. He said, "Tommy's moved into his own apartment. He has a job that he loves and he's well-recognized for his talent. And Alex, who, c'mon, admit it, is super hot, wants to make babies with him. Tommy's fine. Because you did that. He's _fine_."

Frank takes a few breaths. "Not fine fine."

"There was damage before you ever got your hands on him," Mikey reminded him.

And that has become apparent about a million and four times since Frank got out, was information he somewhat knew ever since that first Christmas, when Tommy stayed under the covers, quiet and alone. Until this moment, until Mikey's firm, clear words, Frank had never been able to really understand that fact, that it really connected to the way Tommy was now. Frank took a minute to process the idea, to see that if Tommy had ever really been protected before, then maybe, _maybe_ he would have known how to react to it, react to the idea of _care_ at all. He breathed out, "Oh."

"Frank?" C asked.

"I need-- I need to process," Frank admitted. Because knowing something and understanding it were two very different things.

"Okay," C said, and stood. "Next week. Same bat time, same bat channel."

 

*

Frank took a few seconds at the door to Jon and Tommy's. Making it up the stairs was still a pretty big strain. When he was ready, he knocked on the door. Jon answered and said, "Hey! Frank. Um. Tommy's not here."

Frank knew. Tommy still worked part time at the art store, mostly because Gerard had finally given up his last hours and the twins were still mourning his loss. Tommy felt mean leaving them. "I came to talk to you. If that's okay?"

Jon looked concerned, but said, "Sure. Come on in." He stood back and Frank walked into the apartment. There were still signs that Tommy hadn't completely integrated his stuff into Jon's, but all in all, the place was coming along. Jon walked toward the couch and sat down, flicking the television off. He said, "Matt's coming over in a little, but if you need I can--"

Frank followed him and sat on the couch as well. "No, no, I-- I just need to talk about Tommy for a little bit. I can leave when Matt gets here."

"Or you could stay," Jon offered. "We were just gonna order pizza in. Watch the Mets game."

"Maybe," Frank said. He knew shit about baseball, but pizza and friends sounded nice. There was silence for a long moment, then. Jon looked about to say something a few times, but he stopped himself. Finally Frank said, "Mikey-- We've been going to therapy."

"Yeah," Jon said. "He'd mentioned."

"He said-- We were talking about Tommy, about things I did when we were--" Tommy's secrets were Tommy's secrets, and Frank wasn't exactly sure how to talk about this.

"He's told me about the tongue piercing. And he talked about the time he found a dress in your closet." Jon flushed at that.

Frank said, "His right."

Jon shrugged. "I know a little, is all."

Frank took a moment to cough until everything hurt. When he was done, Jon asked, "You okay?" looking a little stricken.

"Fine." It was more annoying than anything else at this point. Somehow the aggravation got him to say, "Do you think-- Do you think if Tommy had known what it was, I mean, if he had fought with his parents over being out too late and stupid shit like that, do you think he would have hated me so much?"

"I think if Tommy had argued with his parents about shit like that he never would have been in prison," Jon said. Then, slowly, "But, I guess, no, probably not. That's why-- That's why he forgave you He's pretty smart, you know? Once he figured it out-- But I mean, c'mon, if someone took your choices away from you like that at eighteen?"

"That's what they did to Mikey."

Jon's eyes filled up with hatred in a way Frank had never seen them do, had never suspected Jon to be capable of. Jon said, low and angry, "It wasn't just his choices they took from Mikey."

Frank said, "No, not just."

"You _aren't_ them," Jon said. "I wouldn't let you anywhere near Mikey if I thought, for a second, that you were. And if you think Gee or Bob or Brian or Brendon would, you're a fucking moron, no offense."

That was...valid. Frank opened his mouth but Jon beat him, saying, "Maybe you took away Tommy's choices for a little while, okay, I can see that. But you made sure he would have them later on. You made _sure_ , no matter what it did to you. When you look at him, you should try and see that, instead of just seeing a boy without recourse. It's not fair, not to you and not to him. What the hell did you do what you did if you weren't going to be willing to see him use his choices later?"

Frank blinked. "I don't--"

"Sometimes." Jon called him on the almost-lie. Frank, to himself, acknowledged that perhaps he saw that Tommy _most_ of the time. And Jon was right: that really wasn't fair.

"So." Frank bumped Jon's knee with his own. "What kind of pizza?"

 

*

C said, "Tell me about Mikey's kinks, Frank."

Mikey looked at Frank sideways. Frank asked, "What?"

"His kinks. Sexual, preferably, but I'll take others. Things that get him hard, keep him hard, make him come like a freight train. Kinks."

"Um," Frank said. He thought. They'd had sex time and time again, he had to know the answer to this question. "He liked me in that dress."

"Okay, so cross-dressing Frank. That's one. What are some others?"

"I-- We've never talked about it," Frank admitted. He'd never been sure how to ask. It seemed like kink was something Mikey might have forgotten about in prison, and once they were out, Frank had been afraid to find out he couldn't help Mikey with his kinks, that they might have involved functional dicks.

"Why not?" C didn't look surprised. He looked like he'd expected that answer.

Frank said what he'd been thinking, adding, "For the longest time, just sex was hard enough. And Mikey was my kink so I guess I was hoping--"

"I've never wacked off once without thinking of you since I got out," Mikey said. "Pretty sure you're a kink for me, too."

Frank turned fully to Mikey. "You never-- I mean, Jon or Brian or Matt or--"

Mikey shook his head. "Wrong body type, wrong eyes, wrong ink. Wrong everything. Not you."

It would have been the same for Frank, he was sure, had he even _thought_ to look, but he had already been busy trying to convince his cock to respond to thoughts of _Mikey_. "Oh."

"Oh," Mikey said happily, rolling his eyes.

C laughed a little. "Now that we've got that settled, let's go back to talking about what I want to talk about, yes?"

"Pushy," Frank said.

"That's what you pay me the big bucks for."

Mikey laughed. They paid C a grand total of forty a session--twenty from each of them. C grinned. "I don't care which one of you starts, but I want to start hearing some kinks. Things you used to have, things you think you might have, whatever."

Frank said, "I like it when Mikey orders me around," which was easy, because Mikey already knew that.

"Good start," C encouraged. "What else?"

Mikey took a turn. "Before prison, I used to be really into 69, the way it, you know, both of you at once. And I loved sucking him off. I-- I miss that. The way he-- His eyes get all soft and unfocused when he looks down at me, and he's really careful about how he touches me, and his whole body just hums beneath me, like when my bass is dying down from a note I've played."

The simile made Frank smile. Mikey _loved_ playing the bass. It also made him relax a little. Mikey wasn't going to make fun of him for anything he said, neither of them was going to force the other to try out kinks they weren't comfortable with. They were safe. "I, um, it's possible I'm a size queen? I _love_ getting fucked by him, it's, um, _yeah_ , but sometimes I mean, I wonder, look, he has these _hands_ and I know you're married, but I doubt that makes you blind--"

"Really?" Mikey interrupted. "My hands?"

Frank shrugged. It wasn't shock in Mikey's voice, just honest curiosity. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never tried."

"Huh." Mikey sat for a moment and then said, "Sometimes I think about stealing all those really nice pens Gerard has for sketching and having you write whatever you want on me. Like, I know Gerard likes his collar, and that's nice and all, but I'm not really into that, but when we got the tattoos? I was really fucking turned on. I always am, whenever there's new ink involved, so I thought maybe a different kind of ink, you know?"

Frank wondered what that would feel like, tracing the ballpoint or fountainhead over the soft skin of Mikey's shoulder or back or stomach. His breathing sped up slightly. "Sometimes I think it would be fun to pretend we aren't us. I mean, not not _us_ , just, I mean, what if we met at college, like, as roommates or something?"

"Role playing?" Mikey asked.

"Yeah. You know, two guys who have been at sea for too long, or, I don't know, there are lots of things that could be sexy."

The two of them smiled at each other. C said, "I imagine it would be redundant to have me suggest that you try some of these?"

Mikey laughed. Frank said, "Pretty redundant, yeah."

 

*

Frank asked Gabe for two reasons: 1) he seemed likely to know the answer and 2) for all that he acted like a jerk, Gabe took the responsibilities of his job--including confidentiality--pretty seriously. Gabe said, "Body paint?"

"Or pens that write well on skin. Either."

"That's sort of vanilla, Iero. Sure I can't interest you in--"

But Frank really didn't need his progress in therapy undone in a single stroke so he interrupted, "Entirely."

Gabe sulked for a few minutes. Then he wrote down the name of a place on paper and handed it over to Frank.

 

*

Mikey and Frank went to the store together. It was small, but--given that he'd gotten the name from Gabe--surprising in its lack of skankiness. The girl behind the counter was easy-going and helped them find what they need with minimal fuss and no embarrassment. Frank bought Gabe a gift card by way of thanks.

They took their stash home and laid the pens out on the counter next to the paints. Mikey said, "What do you think?"

When they had discussed which kink to try out first, they had chosen this one for two reasons; the first being that Gabe was right, it was pretty vanilla, the second being that it was Mikey's kink--meaning there was no pressure. If Frank felt something, great. If he didn't, well, it was _Mikey's_ kink. Which didn't mean that Frank wasn't going to do his best to make it so that he could feel something.

The paint allowed him to draw his fingers directly over Mikey's skin, warm and smooth under his fingers and the wetness of the paint. But the pens were all about imagination, about that space that the pen filled between them, and what it would feel like to actually be the tip. Frank decided to start with the harder one, move his way up. "Pens."

Mikey shivered. Frank sucked lightly at his neck and whispered, "Can't do this with you all dressed, Mikeyway."

"We'll do this at my pace, Frank Iero," Mikey said, and okay, maybe Mikey wasn't going to let Frank completely off the hook as far as kinks went, because that was his in-charge voice, the one that made Frank want to whimper and stay right where he was until Mikey told him what to do next. Mikey, sweetly, complied. "I think I want _you_ naked first."

Frank got right on top of taking care of that. He wanted Mikey to have what he wanted, always. He stripped easily, casually and said, "Now?" eagerly.

Mikey laughed. "I suppose you've earned the right," and that was just Mikey's facetiously-imperious tone, not really serious.

Frank asked, "Can I?" plucking at the hem of Mikey's shirt.

"May I," Mike corrected. Frank rolled his eyes and undressed Mikey in retaliation. Mikey giggled as Frank swept his fingers over the parts of Mikey that he knew were ticklish, just enough to tickle, not enough to torture. Mikey fell to the bed and let Frank at his pants.

Frank smiled down at him and asked, "Has it ever been like this?"

"This?" Mikey asked.

"Easy. Funny."

"I-- I don't think so." Mikey stretched a little. "But it could be. I think. If we wanted."

"Maybe that's something we should try, too."

"I want to try everything with you."

"Everything?" Frank asked.

"We'll know our limits," Mikey said calmly, and Frank believed him. He reached over and popped the cap on the the bluish-silver pen that he had most especially coveted. He touched the tip of it to Mikey's right nipple. Mikey gasped and arched. Frank let him get it out of his system before beginning the word, the soft curves of the first letter sliding gently over the skin, and Frank panted a little himself at the ease of the sensation, let the pen flow from one letter to the next until he was finishing up the first word, drawing a curlicue just along the outside ridges of Mikey's left nipple.

"What do I say?" Mikey asked, nearly breathless.

"Sugar," Frank told him, a little hoarse, and for the first time in nearly five years felt a jolt of sweetness run through his veins. It wasn't enough, not nearly, but it was something, the first ingredient of a larger recipe.


End file.
